Best Disregarding Poems
This is what the wicked are like— always free of care, they go on amassing wealth. Surely in vain I have kept my heart pure and have washed my hands in innocence ~ Psalm 73:12-13
A wise man long ago bemoaned the thought
that those who seek the paths of righteousness
so often struggle mightily. Their lot
seems only to be wreathed in hopelessness.
Meanwhile, the wicked reap rich dividends
while disregarding others' poverty -
they'll use whatever means may suit their ends,
neglecting justice, love, humility.
Believers know "these three remain" to guide
up peaks appearing insurmountable:
Faith is that trust in Him who walks beside;
Hope is that blessed wealth uncountable;
and Love, which guides us to eternity -
For "God is love", the greatest of the three.
1.
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, you muse of poetry, the
Majority of the times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting on letting you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could
With your request, comply
2.
Oh, Muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming
From your divine essence
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom,
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**
3.
A difficult task it is; indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just
A little more time
4.
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the way
You would like:
In accordance with the universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws
5.
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able
Would be, poems to compose
But
Her writings, her creations, and her poetic epics,
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim
For
She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace,
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know
How
The universe’s poetic language should be used
And how, in verse, it has to be
Delivered!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
30 SEPTEMBER 2014
* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry, and marriage songs.
** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is, in reality, a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that come in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because Erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!
The thunder sounds from far away,
wild wind runs before it carrying whispers
of the coming storm.
Clouds are dark and gray
like cloistered nuns escaping hell,
and bursting out with rain.
Lightning flashes her skirts
and her consort thunder gives chase,
disregarding those beneath their feet.
Wind and rain keep the beat
of the storm's tempestuous dance,
becoming cyclone's destructive stance.
I’ve an anger which cannot be hidden!
A burning passion that comes unbidden!
My Soul desolated with grievous rage,
reacts with furious justified outrage!
Occasioned by the offences of ignorance,
bigotry, discrimination and intolerance!
Though evil are the ravages of vandalism,
they pale to the magnitude of racialism!
Colour, creed, even the shape of the eye
is little enough to make bigots cry:
“He’s not of us! He’s a different breed!”
“Watch him close or he’ll do us an ill deed!”
There is no cause for remarks such as these,
but pestilent views are like a disease!
Some ill chosen words expressed in vague
terms, insinuate like a fatal plague!
Ethnic slurs in the guise of humour, fester!
With but one angry response one protester,
can incite more slander, which raging out of hand,
foments a backlash! Runs rampant! Inflames the land!
But racism is a sword with a two edged blade!
It cleaves not only those on whom it’s laid
but those who scorn to curb their vicious tongue
from whom such defamatory words have sprung!
Can we not accept those who are not as us?
Must we blame the innocent for the fuss
instigated by such biased perception?
Let us quash ignorance at its inception,
or by default we shall be guilty too!
By using diverse conceits we construe
to make imprudent acts lawful decrees!
While disregarding all impassioned pleas
for tolerance! Unless we denounce this blight,
or take a stand and with fortitude, to fight
and end disharmony, discord and dislike!
Racialism and hatred will flourish alike!
Rhymer April 1st, 2017.
ESCAPE INTO REALITY
Escapists---fantasizing about worthless things
Well trained in our worldly ways and feelings
Struggling to visualize our predestined callings
Escapists—fantasizing about worthless things
Reality-- disregarding Eternal majestic dwellings
Pursuing false perspectives and earthly inklings
Mistaking Believers as fake brainwashed beings
Reality—disregarding Eternal majestic dwellings
Here I go again, laying my head, on the line, how droll
As I rummage around for any last bits of my sorry soul
With the now vacant space my thoughts can roam free
But, no one is listening, so with silence, I cannot agree
Are not my thoughts not just voices, so I am not alone
The walls of my mind become a vast screen of my own
With the past and present flashing by, so future comes
Time have I to deliberate to the messages it succumbs
Each one of us, on our own path, chosen, or otherwise
Others amongst us, living their life under fake disguise
Does history repeat itself; yes, of that you can be sure
Will we ever learn, I am afraid for that there is no cure
Thoughts here, within my own self-made private space
As I'm severed from time, I can loiter at my own grace
This feeling of serenity is me as without contamination
All the facts before me without any missed information
Also, to see a life disregarding all the wrong diversions
But there is no pain, or anger, I forward my excursions
As I know I will return to this path of life all over again
When this time more knowledgeable of life's new reign
These grey walls around me as allude nothing from me
We can never change our fated lives unless we can see
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
Tearing gusts of highland winds dim the sound of pipes
No one knows and no one sees and no one sets it right,
Heavy hearted sadness carries, other souls who went ahead,
Ghosts of kindred spirits living now or living dead,
Running through the gorse and heather wishing for a horse to ride,
Disregarding wind and weather, Grim, the reaper by my side.
Places I would rather see.... Home's still where I yearn t' be,
I'll never have you there with me... 'tis lost...
both love
and pride
Jonji ‘s dance within my mind
and well within the ken o’ men
I just prepped the canvas
Vanity
A poem about vanity in life inspired by Ancient Greek Wisdom
As I wake up abruptly every single dawn
With my body still asleep on futility’s lawn
My spirit needs a fiery, enervating quick jolt
To nail down my awareness with God’s divine bolt
And as the day’s continuity progresses slowly
My frail mind transforms my soul silently
To seek our Father’s love and compassion
And His heavenly treasure and full passion
Oh! supreme vanity, goddess of futility
You mark our short life most eloquently
As you guide us with your values and premises
To consider all matters without the goal of destiny
For without God’s divine purpose and infinity
All life ends up in the turbulent waterways of vanity
Waiting, with no end, for the pleasure of happiness
Disregarding all elements of ethics and human wellness
Oh! Greatest vanity of glorious vanities
How weak you make the old and the wise
How you bond us all well with divine fate
How silly you make men who think they are great
Dearest God, bless us to be, in our life, mighty
So that we express our goodness to all needy
For without Your words we are all bereft totally
Waiting our final turn in the valley of dire mortality
Taking into deep consideration the following ancient Greek sayings:
1. By Aristotle: ‘Suffering becomes beautiful when anyone bears great calamities with cheerfulness, not through insensibility but through greatness of mind’.
2. By Plato: ‘Eternal time is the only truth while what happens in our world are icons of vanity of our emotions’.
3. By Empedocles: ‘You must plunge beneath your crowded thoughts and calmly contemplate the higher realities with pure, focused attention. If you do this, a state of inspired serenity will remain with you throughout your life, shaping your character and benefiting you in so many ways. But if you direct your attention instead to the trivial things most people obsess about, the silly nonsense that dulls their minds, you’ll just acquire more objects which you’ll only lose anyway’.
Old age starts to feel like a waiting game
when the shadow of Death starts encroaching.
And your passion for life dims down its flame,
watching life's end stealthily approaching.
You start looking back rather than ahead:
memories outweigh thoughts of tomorrow.
For past years, like an unraveling thread,
expose feelings of love, faith, and sorrow.
Oddly enough, you don't feel old inside,
though time keeps steadfastly ticking away.
And you set your qualms about Death aside;
disregarding what nonbelievers say.
Faith feels comforting, like a well-worn shawl,
deadening the soft sound of Death's footfall.
In the realm of beguiling shadows where illusions paint the sky,
The bias for balance is ignored, as reason takes its flight.
Disregarding the light of truth, madness steers the moral tales,
Woven through repetitive histories, hearts are chained in the prisons of insanity.
Divide and conquer, their ancient script,
In this illusion of choice, we step on a false stage.
Stones are thrown at the poet's fragile glass house,
Hypocrisy overshadows common sense, allowing deceit to pass.
With pen and sword, deceit weaves its dark attire,
Propaganda, a wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing entire.
In a minefield of twisted visions, obscurity feeds on souls,
Nurturing the monsters born from the cries of broken foals.
Forgotten are the teachings of shattered hearts,
While hope falls, a victim of unspoken words.
Oppression and inequity shout loudly in the tears of the privileged,
As the waters of decadence spill, unloosing the poet's glass walls.
Through the mist of silent nights, hope dares not retreat,
Under the weight of a starless sky, it stumbles on weary feet.
Yet within the shadowed depths, a truth barely glows,
A beacon through the darkness, ever softly it shows.
For in the darkest corners, truth leaves an eternal trace,
A faint echo, a whispered note, in search of its rightful place.
In the heart where illusions crumble, the soul finds sweet release,
And the poet’s glass house, though fragile, finds true peace.
Mystical winds of destiny, spread your veiled wings,
Through twilight realms and silent screams, where the lost heart sings.
In a dance of shadows and light, the mystic path reveals,
Where the lines of fate intertwine with the soul's forgotten tales.
Night…to Morning
————————————-
Very often,
my night hours
Keep awake,
Keep their occurrence
Until morning’s rise,
Keep their words
Under darkness…and
Their poems wait,
Disregarding
Inspiration from
The luminant moon
In favor of the sun’s
birthing day.
I keep my sleep’s
dreams abloom
In the acres of
gently waving,
Vibrant yellow,
Billions of sunflower
Petals
Opened to extend
their beauty into the
Summer’s minuets —
Moving silhouettes —
Along the horizon…
So, so clear, even
To these sleepy eyes,
Through these
glistening tears.
===========
(c) sally young Eslinger 9/8/21
Thanks be to God
Benefit for all is converted for the use of a few
their pockets are included in national budgets
and their wants, top the country's priority list.
Even the Cock's raw corn
is highly coveted by the Cat.
An old plantain tree, preventing its suckers from growing
or a father, who frustrates the welfare of his family
is exactly the hell,
created by these money and power mongers
The political system
is all about a game of cards.
A particular clique
fixes their huge pipes
as the fatherland shrinks under no mercy.
Leaders they call themselves,
yet they invest on the hunger of their people
profit in the poverty of the land
and trade on all forms of artificial instability.
Acquisition of a generation's sustainability
turns out to be a hobby
as they still fight for the crumbs with the weak
and go for the meat, no matter how hot the soup is
disregarding those who cooked it.
The same citizens who once lined up
to give their confidence
which has now become a fatal sacrifice
are gradually reaching the wall.
So know ye this!
A hungry man is one that is angry
and when millions of angry men unite
nothing can stop their quest.
A people once treated less than animals
will hunt like vengeful kings
taking what is rightly theirs
marking a restoration, stained with blood.
Blood, far from innocence and purity!
Dedicated to African leaders, especially Nigeria!
Why should the mimic apologize?
Where are the cupboards?
Where are the wages?
Where is the tailor? I had
no use for algebra, I knew it-
in as much incognito on a prefabricated track,
in order that....
free thinking then supposing,
til warning for dreamless help provided,
a typewritten treat from this meditative cell on
a bi-directional night, just as incensing this layer, once
shouting, against kaleidoscoped winds...
Will the dubious cartoon walk on top of the comparison?
or will the prevailing keystroke provoke a smashing debt?
Their marriage possessed an alcoholic copyright.
just as the about face twists the rear....
A wizard paces..... surveying the blackboard
just when a scholar stands,
and rocks across a page, so that unless
Some author squeezes, a western dialect,
lest now his leisure violates,
a once welcomed, road of gold on the critical side, in as much until
and even faster still, a projecting spontaneous cricket,
now in a graveyard embarrassed by his wasteful song,
messy thoughts, broken prized belief,
sweeping away the cheat,
disregarding the window from the top,
so that a porter yawns,
outside the offending captor, who wears a wolf pendant,
underneath the inside havoc, if only
the technology collapses before
the funerals, thick attack, talk on top,
of frozen outlines, and a leather sofa cracked,
from opinions changing, as correspondence leaked,
so behind smoke, a fire of desire lurking near the conflicting repertoire,
next to the guilty bystander, raining like a thief, now interferes, who
stirs the sticks... across the crossroads,
Can the music spin the guilty onto a bandwagon until the other staggering strangers advancing,
to the next fizzy, dizzy, bog...
while guides await in order to assault corrupted fantasies,
beside crystal strips, where rusty knights in armor, sitting on a park bench
trying every half measure,
disturbing breezes,
in the haze of memories. Stir these random thoughts and let their impressions talk to you and one another.
Who knows how the mind really works?
You are shelling out a lot
Of racist evil remarks
That I don't appreciate
Your full of negative hate
Why are you so cruel and mean
What have your darkened eyes seen
That turned you into a bully
Sputtering out words so cooly
With no regard to the feelings
Of the people you sent reeling
Into a depressive state
Soon it will be much too late
To fix damage you have done
Every time your hatred runs
From the dark shell of your soul
Not knowing the tragic toll
Your creating with your ways
And the way your words will slay
Into innocent hears and minds
That break with new words you find
Disregarding everyone you see
That looks and acts differently
From others that fit your norm
Keep this up and soon the storm
Will fall on your poor existence
Making you see the conditions
You've been putting others in
Will backtrack on you again
As karma and fate combine
Slowly over years of time
Causing havoc in your life
Making your days full of strife
Unkind--not caring at all
As you finally take the fall
Leaving you alone to pass
To hell that will kick your A--